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Sheppard wasn’t sure what to call the weird thing between him and Todd. It wasn’t exactly friendship, but after Atlantis returned to Pegasus, it definitely wasn’t hostility anymore either. Todd had done him and his people more than a few favors in the past and had proven himself a useful ally. Even though he’d screwed things up spectacularly when he nearly got the entire Daedalus crew killed, they also had him to thank for several fully charged ZPMs. Over the following two years, he’d been willing to make up for it, so they’d been trying to rebuild the trust they’d lost.
With each passing year, their cooperation seemed more efficient, more influential… and, surprisingly, more fun.
So they were allies. Or maybe it was more than that. John was pretty sure that allies didn’t usually spend their evenings together with a beer in hand. Well, only John had a beer in his hand… Todd just had that hand. Actually, that was pretty much enough of an equivalent. Although thanks to the new version of the retrovirus, he didn’t have to feed on humans with it anymore—if he didn’t want to. And Todd didn’t want to. At least, that’s what he said.
But you don’t just drink beer and eat chips with allies. And you definitely don’t make bets and keep escalating the competition between you. Healthy or otherwise.
It had started off completely innocent. They’d been arguing over how many times Rodney would insult Zelenka while they were working on reinforcing Atlantis’ shields. It wasn’t about money—what would a Wraith even do with honest American dollars?
And besides, how would Todd possibly pay Sheppard back on that bet? Extra years of life? A gift of life or not, thanks, but once was enough.
It was about small, sometimes bigger, useful favors. Like John arranging for the commander to have his own room on the Ancients’ base instead of an impersonal cell whenever he was there on a diplomatic visit. That’s what they called it. Or when Todd provided the colonel with alien—and not exactly legal—intel.
In short, whoever lost paid the debt.
Every now and then, they’d bring each other supposedly funny souvenirs from missions, or help each other out with tech. Once, a piece of a fossilized hand was waiting for Sheppard in his quarters. A Wraith hand. The feeding one, to be precise. With a gaping maw. Right in the middle of his bed.
In return, he’d slipped a chunk of manure into Todd’s coat pocket at an unguarded moment, something he’d diligently stolen from Atlantis’ botanical labs. Todd had ultimately had to destroy his—under all circumstances dramatically stylish—coat, because the smell couldn’t be neutralized. Apparently, the material it was made of (and John would have bet it was an organic piece of the mother ship) reacted quite unexpectedly.
Sometimes, when he lost, Todd would make Sheppard spend a day or two on his hive. Surrounded by domesticated, obedient Wraith, he still didn’t feel particularly comfortable. And he could clearly see how much his ally was enjoying his discomfort. Just like his new second-in-command, whom John had started calling Randy because of the tattoo above his lip that looked like a mustache. He’d definitely have to show him South Park someday.
The whole thing—this constant bickering—was ridiculously entertaining. And inappropriate. To say the least. Todd had once been their enemy, sure, but this time he seemed to be playing fair and adapting. John was enjoying it, even though he was often the one who had to return those harmless favors.
They’d taught Todd how to play pool. He and Lorne. They shouldn't have done that. Who could’ve known he’d be such a natural talent, even though most of the time he’d just been watching them play.
That evening, Sheppard had had a bit too much to drink, and all the more reason his veins were buzzing with adrenaline like never before. He felt confident. After all, some inexperienced Wraith could never beat him at pool.
“A quick game?” he tilted his head toward the table and took a swig straight from the bottle.
Todd raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk spreading across his pale face, revealing his grayish, pointed teeth. “No need to ask, John Sheppard.”
He followed the human, grabbed two cues, and let Sheppard rack the balls on the green felt.
“What if we made it more interesting?” the colonel suggested casually, trying not to give away his growing excitement. It felt like an adrenaline sport.
Todd’s grin widened further—he knew exactly where his human counterpart was going with this. “Very well. But do not wager anything valuable. You might lose.”
John laughed, and before he could filter the thought, his mouth beat him to it. “Don’t worry, I’m damn good. I’d bet my life.”
“Are you indeed, John Sheppard?”
“Yeah. I am. Better than you.”
Todd’s voice purred. “Really?”
“Yeah, Todd, really. Might wanna back out while you still can,” he scoffed.
He hadn’t spent most of his youth and time in the military gambling, but when it came to pool, he was damn near unbeatable—and he had zero doubts about it. Not even Todd’s cocky expression could shake his well-earned confidence.
That deep, vibrating voice again. “So what are you willing to stake on it?”
John leaned casually against the corner of the table, cue in hand. He shrugged. “Anything.”
Those yellow eyes gleamed. Todd leaned down from his height, closing the space between them, and murmured into John’s ear, “What about a mutual oral assistance?”
John blinked, but didn’t lose his composure—or pull away much—when he shot back with a laugh, “You mean we blow each other? Didn’t know Wraith were into that. With those teeth and all…”
“There is much you still do not know about Wraith, John Sheppard. So… do you agree?”
The colonel’s face flushed faintly—hard to say whether from the alcohol in his bloodstream or something like unexpected shyness. Todd had suggested the alternative mostly to mess with him. To make him squirm, to remind him that confidently wagering anything was a foolish risk.Truth was, he had no idea what, or rather who, Sheppard preferred in his personal life—at least when it came to humans. He’d never seen him with anyone since they’d met.
Which was why it surprised him so much when the answer came. Firm and resolute. Especially given that the interspecies difference didn’t seem to bother him.
“Deal.”
“Shall we shake on it?” the alien grinned.
And to his surprise, John took the offered feeding hand without hesitation. That took a fair amount of trust, which pleased the Wraith more than a little. This human would never cease to surprise him. And not just with his determination and courage. Sometimes it was just pure recklessness and pride—but who was he to waste such unique opportunities.
“Any conditions?” John asked, trying to keep control over the slight unsteadiness in his voice.
Todd considered, already chalking the tip of his cue with practiced ease as if he did it all the time. “Whoever loses must bring the other to completion.”
“And has to swallow everything,” John added quickly.
Todd grinned again, caught somewhere between smug satisfaction and genuine admiration. It almost sounded like Sheppard was looking forward to it.
“Any other requirements? Like when, where, how?”
He took the chalk from his pale-skinned ally and prepped his own cue, setting the empty beer bottle aside.
The ten-thousand-year-old predator in Todd showed when he replied with malicious delight, “You will satisfy me aboard my hive ship. While I sit in the command chair on the bridge. And you will kneel beneath me and look into my eyes.”
Okay, that mental image wasn’t nearly as disturbing as John felt it should be—especially when he found himself subtly adjusting his pants.
No question now—his face was red, and not from the alcohol.
“When I win, you’re blowing me in a jumper as soon as we hit orbit. And you’re definitely not using teeth.”
Todd laughed.
John laughed.
This was going to be an interesting game.
“Very well then. May the better one win, John Sheppaaarrrd,” he trilled.